The house was only a little farther from the marina than the one Logan had grown up in. He walked with Sophie and Biyen down the long driveway to the lane that led past the bottom of his own driveway and across the grounds of the resort—what they all called the village—past the pub and around to the boatyard and the side entrance to the marina building.
Logan imagined the walk felt longer in the rain, but this morning the sky was bright with the promise of a fine summer day. The air smelled like salt and school almost out and long days in the marina about to start. That, too, had an odd sort of appeal.
Biyen chattered the whole way, telling him dinosaur facts and a story about his friend’s little sister who put a crayon up her nose.
“Color me surprised,” Logan said.
It went over Biyen’s head, but Sophie sent him a look of mild admonishment for the pun.
“They had to go to the clinic in Bella Bella to get it removed,” Biyen continued. “So then we all had to come back the next weekend for JayJay’s birthday party again.”
“The lesson I’m getting from that is not to have a little sister. Sheesh, buddy, you could have warned me before I got one for myself,” Logan said.
“Now you know, though. Pro. Tip.” Biyen tapped his nose.
Who the hell was this kid, saying hilarious shit like that? Logan shook his head in amusement and reached for the door to the stairs that led up to the marina office.
“Have fun at school today,” Logan told him.
“I will. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, bud.” She gave him a hug and kissed the top of his head.
He started up the hill.
Sophie faltered as she realized Logan had waited and watched them. Maybe it was his holding the door for her that made her cheeks go pink with self-consciousness.
“Thanks,” she murmured, starting to walk through it.
Logan was being polite, not chivalrous, but now it felt weird.
Thankfully, Biyen called out to him.
“Hey, Logan!”
They both stepped back outside to look up to where Biyen stood on the road going up the hill.
“Remember that time you barfed by that tree?” Biyen pointed.
Sophie made a choking noise in her throat.
Awesome.
“I do. What about it?” Logan asked.
“I don’t know. I just remembered.” He shrugged. “Can I play with Imogen and Cooper after school?”
“I’ll check with Emma. I’m sure they’d like that,” Sophie said.
“Okay. Bye!” He finished running up the hill.
“You barfed by that tree?” Sophie smirked as she walked past him.
“The day after we got here. I guess my mother was right. A first impression is a lasting one.” He followed her up the stairs.
“When has Glenda ever been wrong?”
“Just the one time, when she agreed to let Wilf Fraser buy her a drink.”
Sophie snorted and took her coveralls off the hook by the door, carrying them into the office. She gave them a shake, then stepped into them. Rather than push her arms into the sleeves, she tied them around her waist, leaving the heavy cotton bagging around her hips while she pulled off her sneakers and stepped into her work boots.
Don’t ogle. He forced himself to start the pot of coffee they would nurse the rest of the day.
“I’m going to try to get these invoices entered before the phone starts to ring.” Sophie stood in front of the desk they shared, absently holding the bronze water pump that had weighed down a red folder. Wilf had been old school, still doing everything with hard copies. Logan had insisted they move everything online, but some of their vendors were being slow to transition.
Fuck, she was cute right now with her coveralls hanging like hip waders off the indent of her waist. Her beige bra strap was showing on one side from beneath her green tank top. Her hair was up in its tangle, like a snag of red gill net, and her mouth pouted in concentration while she read a note left by accounting.
“Did you see—What?” She caught him staring.
“Nothing.” He looked at the coffeemaker, an old drip thing full of limescale. “This should have been replaced ten years ago. Are these barnacles?”
“That’s what gives the coffee its unique, chewy texture. I don’t actually drink anything that comes out of it. I’ve been wondering why you do.”
“Death wish, obviously.” Storm, was the real answer. Between his nights with her and various worries over her future, this business, and his own, he had lost a lot of sleep in the last two months. “Art always had a pot going. I thought that’s what we still did.”
“Yeah, he’s not allowed to drink that much coffee anymore. Thank you, by the way, for asking him to work at the store. Even if he decides not to do it, it’s nice for him to feel needed. Losing your dad hit him really hard.”
A cold, hollow sensation scraped behind Logan’s sternum. He pivoted away from it and poured the first cup of what was truly rancid coffee.
